Jim Traylor

A Poet's Passion: Rhymes and Recollections of Love and Life Jim Traylor

Publisher Marketing: A Poets Passion: an in-depth versification of one man's life. It is a compilation of forty years of life events in rhyme and recollection. The emotion of this poet's passion smoothly assimilates into the mind and heart of the reader. A Poet's Passion: a wonderful and fulfilling read for the true poetry lover. A sampling of A Poet's Passion MEGALOPOLIS, 3:17 AM Metallic click and buzzing hum From neon metronomes, Syncopates the yellow eye Of winking traffic lights. Half a page of Wednesday's news Escapes from litter jail, Then skids off through the flashing night, Like some stumbling, drunken gull. Slender, stunted Cyclopes Stand their red-eyed watch, Awaiting copper snacks that start Digestive ticking from within. A timid dog slinks slowly past With tail between its legs, Then fades into black alley shadows In search of garbage cans. From afar a woman laughs, Then a car door slams. Squalling tires and engine's roar Fade slowly into distance. A chill has crept into the night And brings warm beds to mind. At last the thoughts of sleep appeal, Even without you. *** WAR PLANE The blended shriek and thunder Is swallowed up in distance, As the grave and dreaded Azrael Escapes its concrete nest. Angrily arching upward, On a black and fiery tail, A gruesome manmade Griffin, Gone to eat the sun. *** A POET'S PASSION! Passion! Take me into your arms, Embrace my eager body. Guide me through my brief existence, That I might know And have And be All that life does offer. Passion! Fuel my thirsty soul Seduce me with flaming fury. Light my path to prosperity, And the lusty madness of amour. Passion! Intoxicating elixir, Give me drink your magic potion, Whet my appetite with ambition, Strengthen my drive and resolve. Quick, my passion! Ignite my craving, my desire. Look! The sky grows ashen gray, The sun will soon be setting. *** PROGRESS Pastel parrots perch on high And pipe their songs of glory, Down to monkeys who act out The moral of their story. It passes on to mockingbirds Who reproduce, in kind, The mirrored efforts of the ape, And sings it to mankind. Then man decides the unit's worth On sacred scales of karat And stores it on computers That teach the pastel parrots. *** THE SLICER'S NICER Snip, snip, The censor's shears Have come to cut off Both your ears! Back in the ancient days of yore They'd end the mucky, foul rapport By snipping ears off by the score. Splash, splash The acid flies Into your face To blind your eyes. Virtue they personify With oil of vitriol in the eye. One tiny drop to purify The lusty sights you must deny. Stitch, stitch, The needle zips, Through the flesh To seal the lips. A better man you are this way. No more vulgar things you'll say. 'Tis such a minor price to pay To keep you pure for Judgment Day. But progress has now changed the scene. The censors have a new machine, That quickly ends all things obscene. I think it's called a guillotine. *** Contributor Bio:  Traylor, Jim I am a retired Civil Servant, living with my jewelry designer wife Louise and T-La, our Pomeranian Therapy Pup in Chandler, Arizona. My hobbies include writing prose, poetry and music, photography, RV traveling, playing guitar and visiting hospitals with T-La. I am a Vietnam era Army Veteran with nine years of active service. I was born in my grandparent's rural farmhouse, just outside of Camp Hill, Alabama on November 25, 1939. Born between the Great Depression and the Baby Boom, certain demographers labeled my generation as "The Lucky Few" and "The Artist/Adaptive Generation." These children, say the population pundits, were born during a Crisis, grew to maturity in a new High (whatever that means), experienced midlife as an Awakening and spends old age in an Unraveling. Staying in step with this characterization, I now find myself actively unraveling those many reasons, excuses and alibies, which kept my adaptive artist bound within, all these many years. My first novel, The Monkey Soldiers, resulted when my captive, adaptive artist broke free from its bindings and ran amuck. Other works in progress include a book of poems, a collection of short stories and a dozen songs. If you would like to contact me, please send your comments via email to happy@trayloronline.com or visit my web page at http: //www.jimtraylor.com.